


A Memory For A Time Not Yet Come (I Only Do Little Things)

by Chibojan



Category: Loki - Fandom, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Loki suicide, Loki wins, Mysticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibojan/pseuds/Chibojan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Issues, Loki has' em.  And he has reached a point where death is preferable falling headlong into  what he thinks is his destiny.  He's brave enough to die - but is he brave enough to live? The unnamed character was based on Eir, Norse goddess of compassion, but she quickly took on a life of her own and whoever she is, I hope she is always nearby. </p><p>Just a drabble, but as I work on a long story about Loki and Thor - and redemption and how things are not always what they seem - that moves politely through canon and then breaks out into wild defiance, I needed a bit of hope to carry me through.</p><p>As always, I am humbly grateful for anyone kind enough to point out typing, formatting and simple stupidities that apparently have some kind of ability, like Loki, to be invisible on draft and leap out on final post where they can be seen by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memory For A Time Not Yet Come (I Only Do Little Things)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [An Archive Of Our Own Authors](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=An+Archive+Of+Our+Own+Authors).



I saw him when he stormed out of the house, stood for a moment with brows drawn and vanished - to Thor, anyway. He was of course entirely visible to me. 

Desolation darkened his face as he moved through the trees with his brother, his mother, and the rest of the household after him. 

"Find him!" Thor roared furiously. 

But not even Heimdall had that much sight. Loki was very good with that trick. I cocked my head and watched him walk right past Loki; couldn't he feel the Loki's breath on his face? Show off, I thought.

I'd been watching a great deal, for there are cries that reach me even when those who implore do not realize they have done so. I had heard Thor many times, and often Frigga but only once or twice, Loki. And both times, sadly, I had been unable to cross the darkness to get to him - but I had light now. All the light in the world. 

I watched as he pulled the golden forearm guards off and ripped open the collar of his shirt. I waited, soberly, as he pulled out his long knife and set it to his inside forearm. I stopped the moment as long as I dared, hoping his mother's voice would reach him. But I can only pause things for so long. 

I sat down the grass to wait. The blade went deep, from wrist to elbow, I saw him shudder with pain and try to cut the other wrist and make a bad job of it. When he jammed the blade under his jaw and jerked it downward, opening an ugly mouth in his throat, and fell forward, I rose and went to him, where he lay with his life draining into the soft summer earth. 

"Loki," I said. He was already past the point where a human voice would have roused him, for he knew exactly where to slash. They would find his body for of course he could not hold invisibility as he weakened.

But my voice? They can hear me to the point of death and onward. I guide them when they are frightened ( if I cannot take them back): I hold their hands until they come to the humble pathway where Death waits with her arms open, and her face shining with compassion. If I can bring them back I do, and send them on their way with something they will not remember until they are close to her mercy once again. It is only little things I do. 

I let him see me and he tried to raise his head. I cradled it in my lap and ceased the outflow of blood with my breath, and sent away the pain. 

"Who are you?" he asked dazedly. That turn of the head, that sidelong look: a stray cat wary of the extended hand.

"Call me a friend," I said.

"I have no friends. Are you Death?"

I laughed, "No, my darling, she is much more beautiful than I am." I embraced his mind and his magic rose up weak and ragged to defend him. I crushed it gently. I lifted his hands; what beautiful hands he had! They were an artist's hands, but there were sword calluses here, andt here the little dent that pens and pencils made, and the odd scratch from playing with the kitchen cat. They were good hands.

I touched his face. He couldn't do anything about that either. A tear of anger and weariness ran down his face and I blew it away. "My dear," I said, and I breathed on his wrists and watched them seal shut; I kissed his throat and watch the long ugly gash close. But I left the little cat scratches. 

"No. I was so close. I was so close, please..." He searched weakly for the knife, and I put it in his hand. He lifted it shakily at an angle to his jaw but I think he was so confused he did not know how to continue. It is hard to return to life; once returned, hard to return to death. 

"Why, on such a lovely day?" I asked, rubbing my nose in a violet I'd picked. 

'"I am an outcast," he managed, "And the prophecies...I will set Ragnarok in motion, I am doomed to betray everyone I love, even Thor, I must not live. You see, don't you? Look what I've done already!" 

His anguish was very great. A crow fluttered down and cocked a hungry eye.

"Not this one," I said. "This is one is _mine._ " He hopped a little closer - oh, they are so bold! and I set the violet down so that it began to grow again and I said the Words and he flew upward in panic and the light devoured him.

Loki noted even that. He was frightened - they so often are - and I smiled to comfort him.

"Greedy crow," I said. "Smell the air, isn't it wonderful?" I picked a dandelion and blew it in his face and he recoiled. Dandelion fluff caught in his hair. 

"You are not real," he said softly. 

"As real as you, my dear. Or not. As real as anything ever is. "

I could hear Thor, not so much his voice but his terror, but I had work yet and I sent him a moment of hope to tide him over. I could hear Frigga calling on me and I blew a dandelion into the air and knew that it would blow over the field and down the hill and brush her face and she would be still. She would feel his life in her heart and know, and be at peace. We were very old friends, she and I, although she did not know it.

"Leave me," he ordered - flat on the ground with dandelions fluff in his dark hair. 

"Soon enough," I said. "So you have seen the future? Look tomorrow and it will have changed."

"It cannot change. It is prophesied. And I am hallucinating because you can't be here. You have no cloak and it is cold on this hill." Such logic! It was rather cold for summer, as the sun went down, if you were - well, as Loki defines it, real.

"I'm not cold, my dear. Loki, the future is a wheel. When you put that knife to your wrists, the wheel moved. When I blew the dandelion into your face - let me get that out of your hair - it moved again. Prophesies? No more than this. " And I blew another cloud of fluff. And went on. "Child, what if you are the one who will _stop Ragnarok?_ What if you are the one who will change everything? How can you know? The wheel turns every moment. "

"I'm hallucinating from blood loss," he said half to himself. "Loki, you idiot, finish this."

"Look," I said, and held out my hand. "Look at your hallucination when she speaks, don't be rude. You are usually such a polite young man. I like that."

Those green eyes narrowed, he sent out a feeler of magic and I tied in a bow and sent it back and then I think he just gave it all up as a bad job. I held up my hand. "Tell me what you see."

"Nothing. This is ...Oh. I...I don't know this magic..."

"No, darling, it's a special kind. Did it work? What illusion have I created?"

"Just...just two old men walking. That's Asgard, that's the garden I think..."

"Do you recognize them?"

"It's -Thor. Hah! He still has his hammer! And that must be someone he knows..."  


"He is walking with his brother. What a lovely ring!"

I peered at the reflection of the illusion in his eyes. The slighter of the two was gray of hair , but it still curled, and the eyes were deep and green. On his hand there was a ring with a huge blue stone, the Signet of Asgard.

"That can't be. That would mean Thor is King and I am..."

"Counselor to the King? Advisor to the Throne? It's the most powerful position in Asgard except the throne itself. It's been centuries since the ring was given, Odin kept it for himself, thinking no could advise him as well as himself. But it seems Thor found wise counsel and so you see..." I held up his hand. For a moment the signet gleamed like a star on his hand; it dazzled his eyes and he winced. When he looked again, it was just a bluebell, stuck to his hand. "Not King, but the King's right hand. Not the throne, but the place of honor beside it. Not Loki the trickster but Loki the wise. Not Loki the traitor, Loki the honored."

"No, the prophecies," he began. They cling so stubbornly to their pain, these children! "I have read them all, they all say it is me, and I am already guilty of so much."

"My brilliant, learned Loki! There's a reason they call it mythology. And the past is forgiven, silly child."

"There is no forgiveness," he muttered. 

"Then why did you ask for it?" I said, and reached into his green tunic, from which the bloodstains had vanished. "Here it is, next to your new book. You are usually so careful, but you forgot to put it in your heart, where it belongs. There. Tucked away, a little wrinkled, a few inkstains, but it will be fine." 

"I am completely mad," he whispered. "Botched my death and now - I'm a lunatic."

Time was growing short - well, actually, long, I could hear the axis strain. "You can try again," I said. "You have your blade, and you have your choice." I closed my hand. "You are the one that turns the wheel. I - well, let's just say I paused the game for a moment to give you time to think. I have only a little magic - not like you." I teased. 

"This is not a game - this is life, this is death!" he said, managing to sit up. Another tear escaped, and I stole it; they make lovely prisms. 

I kissed him on the forehead as a mother might. "Life after life, the game goes on. We play, win, lose, and return again to try our luck. I must go. Someone's calling your name."

"Loki! Brother, answer me!"

"He sounds _very_ impatient. Better go."

Loki turned and looked for me, but of course, I had ended that, and wiped his memory of me - I hope: Loki is a little different. He looked back in the direction of the voice - Thor's voice - and putting the knife back in his sheath, he rose a little stiffly, picked up his forearm guards and snapped them back on as he walked. He went slowly down the hill, for it was steep.

Thor (what a good king he would make when he calmed down a bit) stormed like a God of Thunder indeed when he saw him and then suddenly embraced his brother in relief. I watched them stand, one shadow between them. The mother came running, scolding gently, embracing her grown sons. I smiled. That was powerful magic. 

It is only little things I do. 

Loki looked back again and I, not immune to mischief, let him see me one more time as I blew him a kiss and held up my hand and sent him as a gift, a memory for a time not yet come. He would remember it someday, but not me. Never me. 

_The King sighed."Today, I can barely think for worrying. I am glad you are with me."_  
_"I shall always be here. Don't worry, brother. It's only a game after all."_

"What are you looking at?" Thor asked. Loki stood silently for a moment. He plucked a bit of dandelion fluff out of his hair, looked at it and Thor was stunned to see him smile, really smile. 

"Nothing. Just the sun in my eyes. Let's go home. " 

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many powerful and moving stories here about Loki (and many other characters I love) and most of them deal with the sadness and pain in their lives. I wondered if we felt drawn to these characters that we have, in so many cases, enriched with our imaginations but also with our fears and struggles.
> 
> To all of us who struggle with darkness, or love someone who does; for all the ones who walk with burdens too heavy for them to carry, or for the ones who fear what is and what may be - I hope there are dandelions.


End file.
